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Literature Text
It's the measured breathing of someone on oxygen, here in the small hours. I don't know where it's coming from. I hear it beneath the white noise of the air conditioner.
It's the faint jumpiness of a phone ringing, a monitor flatlining on a loop in my memory.
It's the droning in my own ears, the hum-buzz of the tinnitus, the electricity and insect sounds.
It's the whistle of a train, much louder than it should be. It soars over the top of it all. There are no trains nearby.
It's four AM again. The silence is not golden.
It's the faint jumpiness of a phone ringing, a monitor flatlining on a loop in my memory.
It's the droning in my own ears, the hum-buzz of the tinnitus, the electricity and insect sounds.
It's the whistle of a train, much louder than it should be. It soars over the top of it all. There are no trains nearby.
It's four AM again. The silence is not golden.
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Literature
comatose.
i never told you:
i hated the way you smelled
like winter, like
fog or listerine or
something long forgotten.
i guess i miss you the way
i miss brooklyn,
all thirsty for a song
i've never heard, pining for
a place i've never been.
homesick.
--
i never told you:
i keep your old promises all tucked up inside,
like bruises sleeping fallow
along my hipbones.
i promise i'll love you always, i promise
i'll fix the coffee machine tomorrow,
and if you let me,
i'll fix you
well, you never were a fixer.
what you are is tired, and you never understood
why this fucked-up little town
unmade its bed, swallowed an
Literature
A Poets Dream
Someday I will steal a poet
and make her yearn for me.
Her eyes will be as beautiful
as the words she speaks.
In the night
I will make her sing.
When morning comes
to shine its light,
those eyes will hold no resentment
or animosity.
She will place no blame upon my skin,
neither real
nor perceived.
She will see me for who I am.
She will see me for me.
At that moment
I will light her way
and she
will smile for me.
Literature
THE DISAPPEARING DREAM
To appear and reappear in a dream Falling through mirrors Eyes without a soul Shadows past by the flickering of the candle light Lost in the image of a faded photograph Buried in your memories of a forgotten time There you stand naked and afraid, with your back against the wall
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It's the four AM bloodletting again.
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